Finally
by Mara93
Summary: Arthur is a witchfinder, Guinevere the witch.  After months of pursuit he has her in chains, bound to his will.  But he neglects one thing.  Will she take advantage?  Does the witchfinder feel something more?  Medieval AU A/G Challenge fic


**Title:** Finally

**Rating:** M (to be safe, probably closer to T)

**Disclaimer:** Merlin belongs to the BBC/Shine, but how much fun I have with its little universe of writing inspiration.

**Genre:** AU Medieval

**Author's Note:** The original is a 137 word fic written for ag_fics MC3. It is based on this tantalizing prompt: Hunting for Witches (tantalizing for me anyway because I king of like stuff with witches). It uses the the theme word: makeover. Following it is an an extended version (2580 MS word count).

**TTT**

Original

_**Finally**_

Witchfinder, after months search/struggle, gets his witch. Problem, she's not so compliant.

He's been forced into this job, hates it, but a makeover is on the way. She's ravishingly beautiful as she fights at the chains he's bound her into.

He holds her waist. She resists, but then, rolls her tongue over his cheek.

"_Let me out." _

She whispers seductively.

He feels the spell cast over him, physical and elemental.

"_Not going to hurt you." _

He soothes.

She grins.

"_Wasn't frightened. Simply warning you. You're the one in danger, Arthur Pendragon."_

"_Of what?" _

He asks, feeling the delicious slide of her fingers.

"_Of falling in love with me." _

Her fingers wantonly explore his breeches.

"_Already have." _

Clutching the chains, albeit thoughtfully, he lowers her dress's bodice, worships her.

"_And you with me."_

"_Yes." _

She finally consents.

**TTT**

Extended

_**Finally**_

He's been forced into this job and hates it, but a makeover is on the way. With time he's realized that the king who commissioned him for this job is a lecherous cowardly excuse for a man who neglects his citizens and uses women like they're nothing more than physical objects of pleasure. The witchfinder has utter disgust for the kind. Turning away from his dark thoughts he watches her silently. It was a few moments ago when he successfully captured her. She's ravishingly beautiful, sitting upon a kitchen chair in the darkness, but for a burning torch on the wall, as she fights at the chains he's bound her into.

The witch can feel his observing eyes. They've been playing this cat and mouse game for months now with sometimes her claiming the victory, sometimes him. Now she supposes he can announce the final win as he has her as he has wanted her, _bound_. She pretends that the chains encircling her wrists don't bother her, but they have menacing meaning. It is dangerous to be what she is. She resides in a land where witches are seen as maleficent beings. Many have been unfairly burned at the stake for made up crimes and misunderstood acts of benevolence. She does have one advantage that she ponders upon with surprise. The witchfinder has yet to bind her magic so casting a spell is not all that hard. She could even do the ultimate, bringing his breathing to a stop.

The witchfinder ends his circling perusal and sits down in the chair nearest the witch. He brings scraped hands to her waist, tiny cuts formed along his knuckles from her fierce struggle when he first grabbed her. He wonders if she will fight him again now that he is touching her tightly curved figure.

She resists at first definitely, but then, rolls her tongue over his cheek. _Beguile him_. It's the one plan of action she has left within a troubled mind, the earlier thought of killing him not even one she would ever entertain seriously. It is better she surmises to make him strongly want her, hoping the plan won't backfire.

"_Let me out."_

She whispers seductively, keeping her voice as sultry as she can make it. She has enchanted men in the past and she can do it again. Only issue is that in the past the men she was working her ways over, she had no feelings for. This one is different, clear proof of that the fact that he seized her and now has her locked in chains.

He feels the spell cast over him, physical and elemental. He's yet to bind her magic. Kind of stupid, but something about this is wrong to him, to have her totally helpless while he has all the power. It's been wrong since the first time he caught up with her. The spell is not all he feels though, as her thin small fingers brush up against the rough patch of his knuckles. She hides it well underneath silky mutterings and a tempting expression, but the temperature of her skin gives it away. Not only are her fingers icy, but trembling. The witch is scared.

_"Not going to hurt you." _

He soothes, tenderly. It's such a crazy thing to say when his role is to most definitely put her in harm's clutches. _That's what witchfinders do_. They hunt down their offender, bind them and then leave them at the foot of the king's throne for whatever correction is desired.

She grins. Any display of confidence is only half fold and dependent upon a performance that she fears she may soon lose. It's easy enough to deliver the smooth enchanting words. It's a battle underneath though, waged against the heart.

"_I wasn't frightened. Simply warning you. You're the one in danger, Arthur Pendragon."_

"_Of what?"_

He asks, feeling the delicious slide of her hand come over his arm with wandering desire meant to capitulate his thoughts. Like the violence of a lightning flash slowly edging across the sky, the answer is suddenly knowingly there.

"_Of falling in love with me."_

Her fingers wantonly explore his breeches as she leaves behind any inhibitions that dare attempt to get in the way. She can most definitely lure him into this, but too she is as easily being lured. When he admits she's right with his next two words the thrill of excited wet heat that travels down her spine unveils a woman of like emotion.

"_Already have."_

Arthur says it to her, kind of shocked how simply the words come out, but this has been building for some time. For months he has pursued her through tiny little villages and wretchedly wild forests. Truthfully, the pursuit has been more thrilling than grueling. She is that ravishing beauty, but even more-so this entire hunt she's led him on, he's learned of her ferocity, gumption and thoughtful soul. It's more than physical desire, but that too is strongly woven into his hands. Clutching the chains, albeit thoughtfully, he lowers her dress's bodice, worships her like she is the last bit of water in a blazing desert. Then lifting his head for a fast moment, taking in the rapture coming from her panting lips and shut dreaming eyes, he states boldly,

"_And you with me."_

This man is supposed to be her enemy; if she was using just hard practical sense she wouldn't want his affections. She would simply cast a spell and then run for her survival, not allowing passions to tempt. Simply though, he is right. His admission of love is thrilling for it mirrors her heart's emotion. He is unlike any witchfinder she has ever known, and that in itself is enigmatic to her.

The first time she escaped from him, she felt the barb of his anger, yet no thorn of cruelty. Then, the second time, his silence was cold, but never once did he use the ropes to intentionally _burn_ her skin. This last time, he holds the chains that bind her with care so that they do not bruise or choke her wrists. Even outside when he first sprang upon her and her balance faltered he supported her with his hand. Maybe that's why his warm wet lips cause a sensation to tunnel through her that she can only describe as mystical.

"_Yes." _

She finally consents, the fight over and the dangerous chance taken. It's futile to resist it; her body moves toward his like a magnet, _compelled_.

Ensnared hands come up against their metal reminder that she is a prisoner. Her unsatisfied moan and whispering plea reaches his ear with resulting action. He lets her out of her entrapment, feeling the reward. Her freed-to-explore hands caress his chest with bewitching gratitude.

They move down to the floor of the cabin together, bringing away the dividing clothing. Sitting upon a thick blended cream rug, their bodies hitch and press into each other's equally. Following slow wanton kisses, he takes the physical advantage thoughtfully, bringing her to lie underneath the arch of his legs. She generously parts her thighs, allowing his temporary possession as she wickedly reaps her own. In a rocking vibration of passion, sweat and little flutters of love, they come together...

**TTT**

After the ascent to hot climax, she is laying atop him, both of their nakedness sheathed in the same blanket. A daring woman she may be, but also, perhaps more-so a practical one. This has been a night she will never regret, warm and passionate in his very understanding arms. He is a man who knows well how to bring a woman to pleasure that she can hope maybe a little foolishly that it was so rapturous because _he was with her_. Yet, reality beckons. The dimming moon outside will soon give way to the shining sun. She fears such overwhelming light will bring his change of mind.

"Well Arthur Pendragon…"

He smiles softly at how she states his name, uncertain of many things, but firm on one that he probably should share with her soon. Reaching for her delicate hand, he presses hot wet kisses against the darkly golden glowing skin. "Yes, Guinevere?"

At her name so gently spoken from his lips she feels even less daring, especially when his tongue enchantingly caresses her palm. "You said you love me. And I admitted the same. So what exactly does that mean?" She growls just a bit, pressing meaningful kisses over his _sex_ glistening chest, wondering if the tempting and beguiling can buy her more time and not sure she can even play the game of cat and mouse anymore, not after what they just shared physically and emotionally.

She's ravenously taking him, her mouth not letting up on his stimulated flesh, that Arthur grasps her arms tightly now within clenching hands, so he can understand what has brought on the sudden fervor. "What is it?"

Restrained tightly which allows him to view her naked expression now, she admits her potent fear. "The King. He _wants_ me. Wants to kill me. But first-

The thought of that lazy cock minded tyrant getting anywhere near this precious jewel of a woman makes Arthur seethe with discontent. "I said it before. Perhaps I should again. No harm will come to you. These past months I've learned what kind of man he is, wretched bastard really. As for this, us, it's crazy when you think about it."

She nods her head silently, wanting him to continue, as soon he does.

"You're a witch. I'm a witchfinder. You and I together…well that goes against every rule of sensibility."

"Then why?" She asks cautiously.

His answer is quick. Two choices. The better one is blatantly clear.

"He's ugly. You're not."

She laughs softly at this. He does too as that one answer lightens a sharply bladed mood. Kissing her warm forehead, he partially amends, "No. Even though it's true, he _is_ the ugly one."

She smiles freely, feeling his playfulness as he tickles her side for a moment before going on.

"But that's not the reason. Like I said, I've become aware since my pursuit of you just how lecherous this man is, how horribly he governs. In that same time I've never seen you once try to hurt someone with your ability. Tonight, I didn't bind your magic. Surely you felt it Guinevere."

She nods her head as he admits to what she wondered about before. _So it was on purpose then?_ "I did. I thought maybe you forgot."

He smiles gently at this, finding her lips for a quick kiss before he continues strongly. "You could have done anything then. Even killed me if you wanted."

"I would _never_ want that." She hisses out furiously, her strong sense of spirit showing wildly in the candlelight's glow, one of three candles he lit after their clothing was shed away.

"And I feel the same. Witch you may be, but you're also a kind insightful stimulating woman. He never gave me a strong reason to pursue you, the king. Honestly, regretfully, I never asked for one Guinevere. I wanted only one thing."

His arms' hold of her stills as he waits for her reaction. Guinevere feels more of her earlier wonderings answered, but one. "I knew it had to be something. You're not like most witchfinders. Strong definitely, and clever, but you're not at all vindictive. You don't even seem greedy. So many others, it's all they care about, the bounty, but I don't feel that from you. Am I wrong Arthur Pendragon?"

He hitches on an answer for a moment as he feels her fingers turn circles of mystical touch over his chest. Perhaps it's part enchantment, but if it is he has no fear or grievance against. "Not entirely. My mother is very ill. Father was a waste of a man who left us on our own. The king promised a handsome reward for your capture, so yes I wanted the money. But to insure my mother's health, nothing more. I'm not proud of it, but that's the truth."

The answer has to do with family love; no wonder he is not like most men who do his job. His purpose has been a generous one, not one of greed; that raw answer makes her desire the witchfinder even more. Her fingers' circles turn to coos of comfort. The king likes keeping his people in dire straits so they desperately depend upon him. Somehow she knows that his lack of leadership is destined to come to challenge by one of his unhappy subjects. She actually looks forward to that day, but for now, there's something she can do for the witchfinder. _No_, not witchfinder. This is not the right title for a man as soulful and fiercely loving as him.

_Arthur_. That's better.

"I'm sorry. The king preaches awfully that witches are evil and nothing but. Sure there are those who greedily use their power, but it is not so simple. Much of what he spreads with his forked tongue is lies. Even treatments for the ill he charges such a hefty price for." She shows him her hands. "I know ones that cost nothing. Herbs and just tiny bits of magic. If you'd trust me, I'd help your mother. As much I could. All I'd ask in return is that you not reveal my whereabouts. If the king or any of those who follow him found out, they'd happily end my life." She shivers. Even witches have choking fears. He's killed many, and _used_ many.

"_Enough_." Arthur tells her strongly, bringing his hands to her damp-loved naked back, _possessively-protectively_ holding her to his strong form. "You have nothing to worry about. I don't want any of his blood money. I'll find a better way." His lips brush against hers softly, cajolingly. "With your help perhaps."

"So then you trust me?" She asks quietly, almost shyly as she deeply _wants_ him to.

It hitches on that. Trust. _All this hitches on that_. Anything that stems from here on. Love is so sweet and perfect. But love alone never exists. Bonded to it, like the chains he bound her with, are so many obstacles. Trust first and foremost. He angles his lips up to hers, kisses the witch who has ensnared his heart, beguiled his senses with mystical burning beating pleasure. He can feel the spell of magic still lightly there, _because it's more elemental_, than of any kind of purposefulness. It's simply a composite of what they possess together.

"I trust you."

He whispers, making her smile.

_Finally._

Now the makeover begins.

**TTT**

Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated. Be back with another of these MC3's soon.


End file.
